"Momma?" asks a young human girl, huge greens eyes sparkling with curiosity as she gazes intently out of the darkened window.
    "Yes alanna?" answers an older version of the child as she knits by a low fire, rocking serenely in the shadowy room.
    "Who is that man?" she says as she points out into the darkness with a grubby finger.
    Her face pales as she drops her knitting and jumps out of her chair, as if she'd been stung. Running to the window, she peers out, her face masked with horror, and slams the shutters closed, bolting it from the inside. A small rounded face peers up at the violently shaking woman in wonder, head tilted slightly, "He waved to me momma." Clasping her only child tightly to her breast, she weeps quietly in the darkened room, her fear cloying in its ferocity.
    "No!" she screams in defiance. "Not my child! Ye canna have her ye vile beast! Be gone to the pits of hell where ye belong!"

    Voices blend unpleasantly in the dank, smoky room, the smell of too many people in too small an area permeates every nook and cranny. A gavel bangs and all heads turn expectantly to a wizened old man, hunched with age and obese with his excesses. In a loud booming voice that demands attention, if not respect, he calls the meeting to order.
    "Ladies and Gents," he calls out gruffly, "Yea all know why we is here tonight. There've been disappearances in the town and sightings of a stranger in the dark, just after sundown." He pauses to clear his throat and shuffle some papers about nervously, "As yea all know, McBrides lad was found, dead, all his blood drained of his body and two puncture wounds at his throat." A rustle goes through the crowd as some who didn't know, hear the news for the first time, and those who did, find new anger at the outrage of the young boys death. Weeping, both quiet and stormy, burst anew as emotions overtake some.
    "What're ye gonna do about! Ye are s'pose to protect us, ain't ye!" someone yells angrily at the group of uniformed men and woman at the front of the room. Shouts of agreement echo from all sides.
    Holding his hands up in acquiescence, the old mans voice booms out again, "Here here, people, let's have some order, aye?" The crowd slowly quiets, the storm passing. Clearing his throat again and shuffling more papers, he regains his composure and continues, "It seems we have a problem. A vampyre is hunting our young ins but we can't seem ta find him, nor catch him durin' his deeds. What we are askin' fur is that all ye lock yur houses at night, nail the doors shut if ye have to, and have yur chill ins sleep in with ye until we catch this creature. Father Randall has some holy water and iron crosses that he'll be handin' out ta ye all after the meetin'. We'll need some volunteers ta help us at night, in order to catch this fiend afore he strikes agin. Ye dun need ta worry, we'll catch this monster and burn his bones till he's nuthin but dust!"  He raises a clenched fist into the air as shout of hearty agreement echo throughout the small building.

    "Emaleth!"
    "EMALETH MAYFAIR!"
    "Coming Mum!" Gathering her skirts up she slips the book into a hidden pocket and dashes through the sun dappled woods, fleet feet making no missteps despite her speed. Wispy tendrils of sun kissed hair escape her tightly done bun as she skids to a stop in front of an angry frown.
    Crystal blue eyes glare angrily into emerald green that sparkle with mischief, "Ye ken that ye isna allowed to wander alone, Ema." Throwing her arms into the air in exasperation she continues, "They havena caught him yet! Ye could be next!" A shrug of one shoulder answers Emaleth's worried, angry mother and she's grabbed by the scruff of her neck and shoved into the dingy little house that's more of a shack than anything else.
    "Ye are to be wed in one weeks time ta young Mister McLeod. Ye should be acting like a proper young lady, not some wild pixie, wanderin' in the woods all the time," Rowan, Emaleth's mother, rants as she kneads a pile of dough angrily.
    "Ye ken that I dun want ta marry him mum," grumbles Emaleth sullenly, her arms crossed over her chest as she lifts her chin in defiance, "I dun love him."
    "Aye? And what does love have ta do with it?" replies Rowan, looking up her headstrong, willful daughter. "I canna take care of ye forever. If ye could at least sew a stitch like a normal girl could, then I wouldna worry, but Mister McLeod, bless him, will take care of ye when I'm gone." She returns to her dough, kneading it with her strong, callused fingers, unaware of the dark looks emanating from her only child. "Go on Ema, do yer chores like ye is s'pose ta. And for once, stay outta trouble, aye?" She looks up and watches as her daughter stomps out angrily, sighing with defeat and shaking her head sadly, "She's too willful for her own good. Thank Gonn she isna ugly.."

    Wind rustles through the grasses, blowing her silken hair playfully as she watches the sun being shoved away by nights dark cloak. Inhaling deeply, she closes her eyes, arms outstretched to catch the wind gods playful gusts.
    "Nay, I wilna marry that wretch, I'll run away first," she say softly to herself, opening her eyes with a new resolution, "He wilna have me." Ever so softly and with unconscious grace she descends to a seat in the tall grasses, eyes still on the falling twilight but unseeing as her mind forms her plans of escape. "Airu, I'll go ta Airu," she whispers quietly to the darkening fields, her fingers absently plucking at stray grasses.
    "Oh will you then?"
    Jumping up frantically, she pulls a small dagger from her short boots and crouches into a poise of readiness, eyes flicking all around for the owner of the voice. "Who goes there," she calls to the shadows, her voice strident and devoid of fear. A merry chuckle answers her and she slashes out towards the sound, striking nothing but air. Again the chuckle and she spins to face her adversary, but he's already gone. "Who goes there" she yells angrily into the darkened fields, hand gripping her blade even tighter.
    "I have many names dear lady, which one would you prefer? Ah, let me guess. You would like the name Lasher.. Yes, call me Lasher darling Emaleth," he says softly, emerging from the shadows unnoticed behind her and wrapping his strong arms around her, pulling her close. Pitch black eyes gaze deeply into green, sparking with fiery anger as her blade is pulled from her hand and tossed aside. "Oh, do not be angry darling Emaleth," croons Lasher, stroking her silken hair, "I would never, ever hurt you. No, not you."
    "What do ye want of me," she demands angrily, struggling in vain in the vise grip of the cold being whose skin is as hard, and smooth, as marble.
    "Love," he replies softly to her as he tilts her head back carefully, drawing a cold finger down her exposed flesh. Before she can even respond, he is draining her, her lifeblood, and she swoons, then remembers no more.

    Brightness pulls at her from ahead, her stumbling gait managing to lead her to its source. There, standing transfixed by time, stands a gateway to wonders unknown. Collapsing at its very edge, fingertips brushing the magical substance, she knows no more of happiness as her life start anew in a place of ancient mysteries...